A MISCHIEVOUS NEiaHBOR. 211 



the abatement of the cold, from February to March. 

 Truth to tell, the coon does not fancy coohng his heels 

 in the snow any more than comfort-loving puss ; and 

 the retirement of the chimney corner, in his state of 

 domesticity, is far more to his taste. But his heredi- 

 tary habits are such that when he stirs himself into 

 activity, about five in the afternoon, it is wise to keep 

 the pantry door closed, or he will make a night of 

 it. There are records of his having drawn corks 

 from bottles, removed the covers from butter tubs, 

 lifted latches, and even turned door knobs. 



So clever an animal ought not to be so easily 

 trapped ; yet he is. I recollect two summers ago 

 that my neighbor and right-hand man, the esteemed 

 guardian of my mountain home, remarked one day 

 that a coon had appeared the night before in his 

 dooryard. " I'll have him to-morrow," he added ; 

 and he did. The trap was set that night, and the 

 unsuspicious coon made the fatal error of trusting too 

 much in the harmlessness of things in general and 

 man in particular. "We both of us had coon stew for 

 dinner shortly afterward, and the pelt of the poor 

 trusting creature decorated the barn door, as might 

 be expected. 



The flesh of a young coon is tender and delicately 

 flavored, if it is properly cooked ; but, as in the case 

 of any other animal, it is tough and unsavory if the 



